


Den of Iniquity

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 08:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14891021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Mulder and Scully and a party at the Lone Gunmen's place...read at your own risk.





	Den of Iniquity

He was fucking a pineapple. The green spikes bobbed up and down and flesh fell around him in chunks. He thrust harder and his nostrils filled with sweet perfume. He was fucking a pineapple. How had it come to this?

He woke with a start and a headache thumping at his temples. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, his face smooshed into a pillow that smelt of mildew and fruit. He ripped his cheek off and tried to roll over. His head fell back to the pillow and his stomach took a few seconds to stabilise. Where the hell was he? The room was unfamiliar, small, shelves crammed with old cameras, flashlights, cables, remote controls and other electronic paraphernalia.

“Muller?”

He turned to see Scully folded up in the corner of the bed, a riot of hair across her face. She was naked. Fucking naked. He stared at her breasts. He was too fogged to be polite. They were just fucking beautiful. And they were pink. Like bright pink.

“Scully?” he said and reeled at the stink of his breath.

She sat up and groaned. Her hair stayed where it was stuck. She looked at him, up and down and down and up. She kind of smiled. But it was the kind of smile that a kid did before he pooped. Then she threw up. All over the bed.

“Are you okay, Scully?” He stepped away, not really sure how to deal with a naked partner vomiting in a strange bed.

She pushed she sheet back and nodded. “Water?”

He turned to see a bottle on the shelf next to him. He untwisted the lid and smelt it.

“Fuck, Mulder. Just gimme the fucking bottle. I can’t feel any worse if it’s poisoned. In fact, it might be a relief.”

She downed the bottle without letting him have any. His gaze was drawn to her breasts, pink and perfect. When she cuffed the water from her mouth she tried to smile again. “You’re naked too, Mulder.”

He looked down.

“And your dick is bright pink.”

He opened the door and looked either way. There was a humming sound coming from the room to the left. The corridor was dark brick. Blue light filtered under the door at the end. Scully padded behind him looking ridiculously adorable in a silver-grey houndstooth check dress suit jacket, double breasted to cover her cerise modesty. He’d found a pair of old tracksuit pants in a drawer that were too large on the waist and fell just below his knees. His dick itched. He blamed that fucking pineapple. Scully would pulp it if she found out he was injured because of it. She’d shoot it to smithereens. She’d bash its green spikes and stick ‘em upside down in a bath full of …whatever poison killed tropical fruit. He turned back to look at her. She shrugged. Sort of. Maybe she was itching her boobs with her forearms. It was hard to tell. It was hard to tell anything at the moment.

The door pulled back and he took a deep breath, ready to be the FBI agent he really was. Ready to demand they be released. Ready to protect his partner.

“Oh, hey Mulder, hey Scully,” Frohike said, moving aside to let them through. “Wondered when you two lovebirds would make it out of the Den of Iniquity. How’s the head? Langly, some more of that Special Mixture, pronto.”

Byers sat at the desk. In a shirt and tie. Did that guy have any casual clothes? He was typing at a keyboard. Did that guy ever do anything relaxing?

“Agent Scully, I haven’t seen that jacket since I slept off my first and only hangover in the Den of Iniquity.”

She hugged it closer and nodded vaguely.

“And Mulder, I think you’re wearing Frohike’s pants,” Byers said, standing up as Langly walked past him holding two glasses of a violent green liquid. “I’m assuming you’re unable to speak as a result of the party shenanigans last night, and perhaps your brains might little a little rev up to fill in the gaps in your memory?”

“That punch was a real kicker,” Langly said. “It’s the secret ingredient. Gets ‘em every time.”

Mulder sniffed the drink. “Who is them and what was the secret ingredient?”

“I don’t want to know.” Scully spoke softly to him, her face now the same shade as the contents of her glass. “And what party shenanigans,” she said, turning to Langly, “did we get up to? I don’t even remember being invited to a party.” Her eyes fixed on Mulder and he swallowed the drink in one hit. The taste going down wasn’t so bad. The after taste made him gag and he clamped a hand over his mouth.

Frohike laughed. “That’s the wheatgrass reacting with the acid in your stomach. Dr Scully will tell you the only way to cure a hangover is to replace all the missing electrolytes. But this Special Mixture is scientifically proven to reduce symptoms in less than 10 minutes.”

Scully put her glass on the nearest surface and found a chair. She sat down only to realise that the jacket wasn’t quite long enough to cover her modesty in that position so she shot back up.

“Oh,” Byers said, looking at his feet. “I’ll fetch you your clothes.”

Mulder belched. It felt good. Organic. “If I remember rightly we were invited here for a Hawaiian themed post-Christmas-pre-not-really-the-new-Millennium party.” A vivid image of Frohike in a grass skirt and a dozen lei falling from his neck to perch on the rise of his belly flashed behind his eyes. He felt the urge to vomit again.

“I need to clean up the bed in there,” Scully said, looking back over her shoulder. “I may have decorated the sheets with whatever secret ingredient was in your punch.”

Byers arrived with a pile of freshly laundered clothes. He handed Scully hers. “I’ll clean the room, Agent Scully. Don’t worry about it. Remember, I live with these two and let me tell you that their abilities to imbibe more than the prescribed dose has often resulted in them sleeping it off in the Den. If that room could talk, its secrets would certainly be more revealing than the Roswell incident.”

Chuckling, Langly flicked on the monitor in front of him. “That room can talk. We wired it up to the surveillance system, remember?”

Mulder’s guts churned and he felt the wheatgrass rise up his gullet. “What?”

Scully blanched and fingered the cheery yellow shirt in her hand. “Langly, if you fire up that system, I swear to God I will shoot you.”

“She has form, my friend,” Frohike said, patting Langly on the back. “And she brought her gun.”

“We need the tape,” Mulder said, taking his clothes from Byers. In his pile was a pair of lime green shorts sporting a pattern of parrots and other birds in bright colours around the hems. And a turquoise shirt decorated with small watermelons. He felt sick just looking at them. But somewhere in the deepest recess of his memory he recalled saying something about sweet and juicy melons and remembered her telling him she liked cock-a-toos and cock-erels and other birds with big long beaks.

Langly shrugged and retrieved the evidence, handing it over reluctantly. Byers offered coffee but Scully had already disappeared, coming back a few minutes later wearing her outfit. His mouth dropped open.

“Don’t,” she snapped and sat down, letting her head flop into her hands.

Mulder got changed too and by the time he got back to the room, there was coffee and buttered toast and a brooding silence.

It was Langly that spoke first.

“The best part was when you danced to The Wonder of You.”

“Him or me?” Scully asked, holding her coffee tight.

“Both of you. It was almost like a waltz but you kept telling Mulder off for moving too quickly. Your skirt swished too much and you thought he was revealing too much of your legs.” Langly grinned and Mulder shuddered. Scully looked down at herself and it was really a moot point.

“No, the best part was when they danced to I’m Not in Love,” Frohike said with a smirk. “Now that was some meta-ironic bullshit if ever I’ve seen any.”

Despite a persistent trembling in his hands, Mulder’s aim was spot on. The pencil thwacked the little man on the forehead. “Keep your meta-whatever to yourself.”

“I disagree,” Byers said, straightening his tie. “The best part of the evening was when Mulder proposed and Sully accepted and he carried her over the threshold to the Den of Iniquity and we could finally settle up our little wager. Which,” he added with a small, smug grin, “I won. I knew you two would get it together eventually.”

Langly looked up to the ceiling with his hands steepled in prayer. “Dana Katherine Scully, you are the only one I trust, you are the only one I can imagine putting up with me for more than one day, you are the only one who cares about my reputation, you are the only one that has ever told me I look good enough to eat in a Hawaiian shirt, you are the only one who looks hot in Tweety-Pie yellow and You. Are. The. Only. One. I. Love. Marry me.”

Scully lifted her hair from her face at that point and stared at him, shaking her head. “That was his proposal?”

“Word for word. Then he cried,” Langly said.

“Yours was better, Agent Scully.” Byers said. “Much more lyrical.”

“She proposed too?” Mulder asked, trying to move his mouth into a grin but not quite managing it. “And it was more beautiful than mine?”

“I think beautiful was mentioned quite a bit,” Byers said, rubbing his beard.

Langly cleared his throat. “Fox William Mulder. I fucking love your fucking beautiful nose. I fucking love your fucking beautiful mouth. I want to ride your fucking beautiful face for the rest of my fucking life. It would be fucking beautiful if we could fuck right now, but I’m not sure if your fucking beautiful dick would be up to it, but your beautiful fucking tongue would look fucking beautiful on my…”

“ENOUGH,” Scully yelled, then grimaced. Mulder covered his ears. “We get the picture,” she said, in a whisper. “What the hell was in that punch?”

The kitchen was a mess. There were half-empty bottles of every spirit standing across the surfaces. There was enough fruit to start a farmer’s market. There were empty beer cans, soda bottles, sparkling wine bottles. There was V8, tomato juice. And there was a cake decorating kit.

“I don’t remember a cake,” Mulder said as he and Scully surveyed the detritus.

“I don’t remember anything,” she replied. “And that is fucking beautiful.”

“There was no cake,” Byers said. “Frohike used the cochineal colouring to make the punch look Vampire-a-liciously pretty. His own description. We told him the party was Hawaiian themed but you know how he sometimes loses all sense.”

Mulder bent down to Scully’s ear. “That might explain the pink…”

She swallowed slowly and looked away. “I don’t remember…I’m sorry, Mulder.”

“Neither do I, and believe me, I’m more sorry.”

Her smile was weak but it broke through and he had a vivid memory of her cutting the tops off the pineapples and somehow tying them to a band and strapping them to her head so she looked like a tropical and somewhat more spiky Princess Leia.

“I told you that you’d look good in a gold bikini,” he said to her.

“And I said I wasn’t anybody’s sex slave,” she replied, nodding at the memory.

“And I said more’s the pity.”

“And I said, we do have a bed in the Den of Iniquity,” Frohike interrupted, “ and seeing as…”

“You’re practically married now…” Byers added.

“We might as stay the night,” Scully said.

“And see whether we can put the notion of you as sex slave to the test,” Mulder finished. “It’s all coming back to me now.”

“Must be the Special Mixture,” Langly said. “It’s almost as potent as the punch.”

“We should go,” Scully said, pulling on his hand. “Before I find my gun and shoot them all. Call us a cab.”

Scully’s apartment was way too bright. But it was clean, quiet and wasn’t filled with evidence of their wild night. The tape sat in his pocket burning a hole in his ridiculous shorts. Scully made tea, a ginger and mint infusion that woke his senses, and they sat at her polished table.

“I’m really sorry, Scully,” he said after a while. “I know you didn’t even want to go to the party and this is just a mess.”

She reached out her hand to his, covering it and squeezing. “It’s fine, Mulder. I’m a big girl. I can usually handle my liquor, but clearly that punch was something else. I just wish I could remember our…lovemaking.” Her voice rose tentatively. They both knew it wasn’t the right word. He felt the stirrings of laughter and tried to hold it back but it was too hard. He chuckled and so did she.

“I had a dream that I was fucking a pineapple.”

“Wasn’t a dream, Mulder. I can’t believe I did that with the tops.” She covered her face and giggled. “I haven’t been that drunk ever. Maybe next time we do this, we should commit to not drinking beforehand.”

“I’m committing to never drinking again. But are you saying there’ll be a next time, Scully?” He tried not to sound too hopeful but she just smiled.

“I’m going to have a shower. See if I can get the cochineal stains off.”

He stood up. “Can I come too?”

She cocked an eyebrow and left him with his tea and his optimism.

When she returned, wrapped in a fluffy white robe, he knew why he’d proposed. She looked soft and fresh and fucking glorious. “Your turn, Mulder,” she said, sinking next to him. She put a hand on his thigh and leant into him revealing a fair portion of newly scrubbed breast. “It comes off if you rub hard enough.”

He knew the hangover was beginning to wear way when his cock tingled at her words. He pulled the tape from his pocket. “And afterwards, we can watch the honeymoon video?”


End file.
